


Reveal

by kikibug13



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at a possible aftermath of Steve's (original) rescuing of Bucky from Hydra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reveal

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is compliant (I think) with implications made in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but it's in no way spoiler for the movie.
> 
> Many thanks to akurou for looking over it; if there are mistakes left, they're all on me.

They made it.

Bucky couldn't quite believe it, but they marched up to the sentries, identified themselves, then marched on up to the camp. Steve, the changed-but-still-the-same idiot walked up to the Colonel and submitted himself for court-martial. He got a _dame_ to snap at him, and he actually answered her in a way that made sense, and, hell. What _had_ happened with his friend? 

Sure, Steve'd had enough breath on the march to tell him the facts, and Bucky could figure out some of the rest. For the first time in forever, Steve had the body that could match up to the fire that had always burned inside him.

But things had changed. Things had changed so much that Bucky had no idea what was what, any longer. Steve was popular; his own body and mind were a mess; a good portion of the 107th was wiped out, between the fight, captivity, and experiment; they had more people to take in, now, though, people that he took as brother-soldiers all right, no matter where they came from or what language they spoke.

Bucky Barnes led the cheer for Captain America, once the technicalities were taken care of. Steve was well deserving of the attention, if nothing else - and it took the attention away from Bucky himself. And he needed... time. To figure things out. He needed space.

He didn't leave the celebration as soon as everybody was focused on Steve alone, though. He needed the people around him, too. He needed to watch that smile, the one that he never thought he'd see again, strapped to that table when the current was turning his brain to mush. He needed to know that, no, despite all portents suggesting the arrival of the opposite, he was alive.

He also needed much more mundane things, like tent assignment, reclaiming his things, and so on.

With the state of his regiment, Bucky got a tent of his own, at least for tonight. He splashed some water on his face and hands, then slipped inside with a quiet look around. It was a little cold, but not enough to put him under the covers. Not enough to stop his mind from whirring. He sat on top of the cot, legs folded up, the odd burns on his back kept against as soft a surface as he could. Now that he'd stopped moving, just like during the rests on the way, his fingertips and toetips and scalp tingled. The burns there seemed kept to the inside of his skin. Bad enough.

Slowly, he tried to think of facts. To calm his mind. Date of birth, name of parents, slow following of the thread of memories forward. He'd reached about getting kicked out of school when the tent flap rustled, and Bucky's eyes snapped up to it.

He found himself looking into familiar blue eyes, and the mere fact soothed him, despite himself.

"Well. That's changing roles, isn't it."

Steve huffed, half-smiling. "Yeah. Everything all right?"

Bucky answered with a shrug. "Sure. Just didn't want to steal your party."

"... Bucky."

"Come sit with me?" 

In bed. Sitting in bed together, and Bucky's reaction was too conditioned to try and stop it - his arm went around Steve's shoulders. It didn't fit as it'd used to. Steve's weight against his side was as reassuring, however.

The blond's face turned to him, still as familiar as it'd been before. Seeing it was better than trying to remember things in order. Memories didn't make his chest warm up, nor the rest of his body respond.

"You wanna talk about...?" 

"Nah." Bucky smiled, and shifted so he could feel more of this improved body against him. So he could feel Steve's heartbeat and breathing, as before, even if he knew there'd be less reason to worry. Then he considered it another moment, and stretched his neck to brush lips against Steve's. "I've got better ideas."

He didn't expect Steve's reaction, though he should have. The lips that opened against him were warmer than they'd be, before, but the rhythm they moved in was familiar, ringing through his body and mind and _soul_ like a clear bell. Kissing alone, and he was aware that he wanted more, right now.

Neither of them spoke, until their bodies were pressed tight against each other, the smell of sweat and dust fading to the stronger, very real smell that was Steve. The similarities and differences made him wobble and egged him on both, until _his_ breath was coming short, and his eyes were stinging. 

"Bucky. _Bucky_!" 

Steve's hands were on both sides of his face, and the blue eyes were looking with infinite care and concern, and Bucky tried to shake his head. "It's nothing. Just. Let's keep going, okay? Let's..."

Steve shook his head, in turn. "Can't do it like that, Buck. Not when you're like that." 

Rejection burned like nothing he could remember, and he had a pretty vivid memory of the last weeks. Bile rising in his mouth, he hissed, "so, _everything_ 's changed, then?" He curled away, closing his eyes. That's how he missed Steve's horrified face, though his voice got the emotion through well enough. 

"Bucky! That's not... that's not what I meant, all right? You just can't hide that something's wrong behind this. You're crying, for crying out loud!"

He heard the words - not cried out, quiet, steady, discreet. He even knew that Steve probably meant them, but that didn't take away the sting. The thought that Steve now didn't need him, he'd only wanted him because he couldn't have anyone else, and now he could have _anyone_ , so... Bucky wasn't on the list, anymore, Bucky didn't make the cut, there were reasons to stop himself from being together. 

"I'm fine, Rogers. Just tired."

And he was, though, oddly enough, his body was kind of raring to go. The part of his words that was a lie... he didn't lie to Steve. So it tasted like ash.

"Like hell you're fine." Those blue eyes watched him with the same too-old look that had haunted them since they were kids. Back, before, this look had been more introspective. This time, it was directed at Bucky, and a ragged chunk of ice inside his chest shattered, melted. He moved closer again, this time just leaning, cautious, against the now-larger frame. No matter what hurt, or how much, he couldn't make Steve hurt for it. He wasn't gonna.

"I'm fine." Quiet. Looser. This time, he could feel Steve relaxing a little. 

"C'mon. We'll probably have to be up at reveille, tomorrow."

"You should go back to the--"

"No. No, I shouldn't. It'll come back again soon enough, but they don't need me."

Bucky wanted to say that he didn't need him, either, but it wasn't true. And he couldn't admit to that out loud, either, even if he suspected Steve knew.

They even managed to banter a little as they got out of the last dirt-speckled scraps of clothing and got into spares for the night. It wasn't the best option - this was a tent, and anyone walking in on two men sharing a cot would provoke a hell of a lot of need for explanation - but neither of them brought that up, or the need to do things in any other way.

Bucky stared in the darkness until the furnace of a body beside him calmed down, started twitching, then relaxed into the even breathing that meant normal sleep. The cot was too small for them, now, but that didn't seem to matter.

When he was sure that Steve was actually asleep, Bucky let himself speak. He told him everything. Everything that Zola had done, and everything he'd thought. About the pneumonia and about the men who protected him. About how nobody came back alive, from Zola's experiments, and how Steve probably saved his life all over again because he interrupted them. How his body didn't feel like it was his own, anymore, and how it was all right for Steve not to want him like that.

He spoke, close to a whisper, for a long time, attentive for each way Steve stirred, making sure he never woke up for it.

*** 

When Steve opened his eyes, he was alone in Bucky's cot. He remembered, for some reason, the familiar sound of his friend's voice, though not the words. The tears on Bucky's side of the pillow had gone cold.


End file.
